


Of a Golden Path

by Cana_banana



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble and a Half, Elves, Its Only Sad if You Want it to be Sad, One Shot, War of the Last Alliance, elves and hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cana_banana/pseuds/Cana_banana
Summary: On the Eve of Battle, a King and his Herald go for a walk, and a promise is made.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Ereinion Gil-galad
Kudos: 18





	Of a Golden Path

”Did you ever consider planting Malthenniels in your gardens?”

Elrond looked up from his papers quizzically.

“My King?”

“Malthenniels. They’d be a good addition to Imladris, I think.”

While it was less clear why, on the eve of the battle for Middle Earth, the King decided to talk about gardening. Elrond did, of course, know the flower that Gil-Galad referred to – Marigolds, in common. Bright yellow, and though they weren’t an eyesore, it wasn’t commonly planted, at least not among the elves.

He eyed the Noldo sitting across from him, trying to determine if there was any deeper meaning to the question, or if he was just thinking aloud for no particular reason – Neither would be unlikely. It seemed more like the latter, but Gil-Galad was watching him in such a way that seemed to warrant an answer.

Elrond did so with a small shrug, tentatively looking down at the papers in front of them again, “They represent grief and despair. Hardly the comfort you’d look for when walking in a garden.”

“It also represents guidance. And they keep away pests.”

“Is there a reason you want to talk about flowers _now_ , of all times?” Elrond belatedly realized how terse his reply came out and if anyone else had been present, he’d probably sound like he was being insubordinate, and unnecessarily ticked off by a few questions about flowers.

Gil-Galad’s face just split into a grin and he laughed, soft and rumbling in his chest. He didn’t look much like the High King of the Noldor that he would certainly look like in the morning. Dressed in simple robes, his hair was tied into a simple ponytail instead of the intricate braids he usually would adorn. The crown rested on his brow still, if only because it wasn’t long since Isildur and the last officers had left him and Elrond alone after a final strategy meeting to agree upon the plan for the morning.

For the war.

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

“But—”

“That battle map isn’t going to change no matter how long you stare at it.” Gil-Galad pointed out with a teasing lilt to his voice, which then mellowed out slightly, “We know all of our options by now. We’ve been in this stuffy tent for far too long, we’re both much better off clearing our heads for a little while.”

It was, of course, a good point. Elrond knew he was right; They’d both fought in wars before and they had spent years planning for this particular assault. Anything they could take advantage of on the battlefield had been long prepared. Still, the strategist in him was insatiably tempted to keep looking, planning, thinking about how to best place the odds in their favor, especially when their task was such a momentous one. 

Some of the tension in his shoulders deflated in defeat and he sighed, rising alongside his King with a soft “alright”.

It would be optimistic to say that they were getting ‘fresh air’ by being outside. So near to Mordor, the air wasn’t ever really ‘fresh’. They had mostly gotten used to the ash and the ever-present, slightly rancid smell but it certainly didn’t do much for morale.

The camp was still very much alive, despite the fact that Arien had long since gone to rest. Not that time of day mattered much here in terms of practicalities – The sky was only visible through occasional slips of the heavy clouds and smoke that surrounded most of these lands.

When they had joined forces with Elendil’s army initially, Elves and Men had been somewhat reluctant to mingle. Now, however, in the land of Shadow, they were all brothers in arms, and on this evening, mead and ale were shared between all who would. People had gathered around fires to tell stories, to laugh, to _live_ , since the somber, sobering reality was that in just a day, many would not any longer. It was heartbreaking and heartwarming all the same, Elrond thought, as they passed them. Most didn’t even pay them any mind – If not for the circlets they wore, and recognizability of their faces, they didn’t draw much attention.

The few who caught their eyes didn’t make a fuss. They were acknowledged with a nod (of respect? Mutual understanding?) and other than that, King and Herald made their way to the edge of the camp undisturbed.

Laughter and chattering, the cackle of fire, was ever present in the background, but quieter now, a small distance away. They stopped at the edge of a small hill, the camp well within sight – Far enough to have some privacy, but close enough that guards were nearby.

Elrond looked up at the sky. The winds were not very pleasant here, and tugged at his hair and his robes, pushing and jostling the clouds. No stars in sight.

“Are you worried about it?” Elrond finds himself asking, looking sideways to Gil-Galad, who doesn’t meet his eye. He’s looking up too, seeking the stars like himself – It’s a source of comfort to know that Elebereth is watching over them, and a subconscious habit even if they’re not visible.

“Worried? Not for me, if that’s what you’re wondering. Nor about our people. They’ve gotten through tough times before.”

_Our people._ It meant all of them, the elves and men fighting this war, the Noldor, the Sindars, the Silvans … Oropher and Amdír hadn’t exactly been open to Gil-Galads command, but at the end, the outcome of this war would affect them all. Even the dwarves, he wagered, Gil-Galad included in this laden phrase. The Free People of Middle Earth.

The King continued, “I’m worried for the consequence of our failure, should it come to pass. But that’s a worry that none of us can do much about.” It was a lot of weight to carry, the weight of the war – And although it was not entirely Gil-Galad’s to bear, Elrond didn’t envy him for it. “I suppose not.” He answered at length, and silence fell between them again.

“I need you to promise me something.”

When Gil-Galad spoke again, the gravitas was unmistakable despite the softness of his voice and Elrond almost startled at it. Something about the wording, the tone, made him frown. It wasn’t strange to request a promise to be held the night before a battle, but even before it was spoken aloud, it felt … Heavy.

“If I don’t survive this-“ Immediately, Elrond turned to face his King with a tight expression and a protest bubbling in his throat, which Gil-Galad must had seen coming because he raised a hand to stop him from speaking. Despite his own intentions, he did, pressed his lips together tight like a clam.

The Noldo then continued, calmly, “If I don’t survive, I need you to take care of our people; Whatever that means. Be a guide in the darkness, if all else fails; You were always very good at that.” The last part was said with no small measure of fondness in his voice, and a small smile tugging at his lips. Not that this served to calm Elrond very much, for whom it just added to the uneasiness.

“What makes you so sure that you won’t survive the morning, but I will?” For the second time that evening, it sounded like he was snapping at his King but this time he reigned it in with a deep breath of smokey air before continuing, “I am not a king like you.”

“I’m not telling you to be a king. I’m telling you to be a guide.”

It was not secret that despite these words, Elrond _knew_ that if Gil-Galad was to fall or leave for the havens, he would be expected to take his place. Not just as the King’s herald but for many reasons. Gil-Galad had officially proclaimed him his heir, so he was well within his right to. When he and Elros had first come to Lindon so long ago, there had even been dispute over whether the twins did, in fact, have better claim to the throne - A dispute that had quickly been settled because they were young, and because neither of them wanted that claim.

Elrond still didn’t. Elros wouldn’t have either, not _that_ claim, even though he went on to be a King of Men. Their lineage was … Complicated, to say the least. The reason why, some had argued back then, it would be wise to let one of the twins take the throne was their ties to many great realms; A possibility, advisors had claimed, to unite the elves under a single banner.

Elrond shrugged the memories off. He’d denied it then, and he remained convinced that he would again if it ever should come up. He’d only accepted to be declared heir to Gil-Galad through a lot of convincing and had made clear even then that he would not make a claim upon any throne.

He was not a king.

“You will survive.” Elrond tried to sound confident because he didn’t have another choice but wavered. Of course he’d considered it, the worst-case scenario; That Gil-Galad would fall in battle. He’d even tried to look into the future and learn something, but it was always veiled in smoke and the attempts had been draining and difficult. It was likely, that the King would be a target. Sauron knew exactly who he was, and he’d demonstrated before that it was well within his means to weaken the Elven resolve by killing their leaders. Despite the sickly, warm air, Elrond shuddered. The image of Celebrimbor was forever burned into his mind, and he would rather lose his life than see his King and long-time friend end up in that same position.

“Still. If you promise me that, I will be able to go there,” Gil-Galad looked over the murky, dark plains to the mountain of fire ahead of them, “with the peace of heart and mind that our people will not be abandoned.”

Elrond followed his gaze and looked across the field. He blinked and for a second saw himself standing in the same spot, but with the sight of carnage and death spread before him; Fallen banners (blues and greens, burnt and bloodied) and bodies littered across the lifeless soil, flames and anguish, but alongside a host at his side (retreating? In victory or in defeat?) with a weight upon his heart.

It was gone in the next moment and he felt his King watching him as he forced a nod, “I will watch over them.” He promised.

Gil-Galad smiled out of the corner of his eye and looked up, while Elrond still stared at the empty land before them. “Look.” He eventually said, directing the Peredhel’s eyes upward. “Eärendil smiles upon us at last.”

And indeed, there he was; A bright glimmer breaking through the darkness of the clouds. For a brief moment, the white light of the Evening Star shone upon them. Then, unable to keep the darkness at bay for more than a few seconds, the darkness of the clouds took hold of the light and silenced it, letting the omniscient, red glow take hold of the lands once more.

“I beg your pardon milord, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I swear! I must’ve gotten lost; you see these gardens a much bigger than my own back home –”

Elrond startles a little at the voice. It is true that elves walk quietly, but he’d found himself surprised several times in just the last few days by just how quiet Hobbits could be; When they were not talking, of course.

“That’s quite alright, Samwise. You’re not disturbing at all.” Which was true. He was reading, but only cursorily.

The last week had been draining, to tell the truth. Healing Frodo from his Morgul wound was no easy task and had taken days of constant attention, healing and no small amount of magic. He was better now, of course; Conscious and strengthening by the hours. This was simply a brief moment for a bit of peace before the council began to arrive in the coming days; But Samwise’s flushed, anxious expression makes him smile and think that the book can wait a moment. It had been a long week for him too.

“I take it that Frodo is alright, since you are going for a walk?” He inquires, keeping his voice light as he gently closes the book.

“Oh of course, Mr. Gandalf is with him – otherwise I would never leave his side!”

His steadfastness made Elrond laugh softly; He couldn’t doubt him for a second. “Are you enjoying the gardens, then?”

Immediately, Sam’s face lights up and the anxiety of thinking he’d just interrupted the elf-lord seems to have disappeared. “They’re gorgeous. I’ve really never seen anything like it.”

Rising from the bench, he motions for Sam to walk alongside him, which the Hobbit does, although, as it seems with a little reluctance at first – Elves, he thinks, still seem to intimidate him somewhat. As they walk, he grows less reserved and tells Elrond about the plants in the Shire. The Peredhel listens gladly and in return answers any questions Sam has about this place. He absorbs every name with the greatest of interest, and Elrond cannot help but wish that he could have met Celebrian; Most of these gardens were her creation, even though Elrond happily maintained them.

“Oh! These are familiar!”

They are walking along the winding path near the small lake when Sam stops. There are several plants here that he is familiar with, but for whatever reason, this one catches his attention.

This one.

Elrond smiles, a smile that used to be tinged with sadness but is now mostly melancholic, if any emotion was to be associated with it. Not that Sam notices. “Malthenniels. Marigolds, as you’d probably know them in common.”

Sam nods vigorously. “My ma used to like having them in the house because they’re so beautifully yellow, it’s like they want to be found! They never grew in the gardens though; only on the outskirts, near the Greenfields.”

“They’re not native here either.” Elrond supplies, because he knows Sam thinks it’s interesting; and perhaps, he cannot help sharing it either, for the sake of his own memories. “I brought them here, after an old friend of mine recommended them – they’re a great companion plant, for keeping away pests.”

Sam thinks this is fascinating and “has never heard them used for that before”, promising that “he’ll have to remember that”, but then quickly moves on to the next plant, talking about where he’s seen them grow and asking about their purpose. Elrond answers, although he cannot help looking at the marigolds that litter throughout the garden, finding that he feels a strength and a resolve return to him when remembering an old promise, long intertwined with the roots of those flowers.

As evening starts to come, they move back in the direction of the Homely Houses. Elrond doubts that Sam notices how the marigolds, interspersed between a variety of other flowers and bushes, are with them, guiding them, all the way back to the safety and comfort of home. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Malthenniel was what my half-assed research pulled up as the elvish translation for ‘Golden’. That's what they mean in this context not anyway lmao  
> \- I took a little bit of liberty in the whole 'flower symbolsim' thing. It's Middle Earth, it's allowed  
> \- Arien refers to the sun, or specifically “the maiden of sunlight” – She was the Maia designated to guard and guide the sun! Morgoth (Sauron’s old boss) really hated her in particular.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


End file.
